Leaders at Leisure
by GoldFountain
Summary: Even the Gym Leaders need a bit of time off every now and then. Chapter 3 - Attack Order. Starring Cress, Cilan, Chili, and unnamed gentleman. Ah, how naïve new leaders are.
1. Shed Skin

**Leaders at Leisure**

**1 - Shed Skin**

* * *

There were two main reasons why Bugsy hated visiting Goldenrod City. One reason was the fact that the city was full of nothing but buildings and skyscrapers, and that there was a definite lack of trees in the area. And a lack of trees in the area meant a lack of bugs. Any place with a lack of bugs was a place Bugsy rarely visited.

But today, Bugsy had to come to the city with an errand to accomplish.

"Oof! Unhand me!"

Bugsy found himself deposited unceremoniously onto a stone pink floor. A hand with glittering nails grasped one of his wrists sharply. Bugsy looked up, and saw a woman sitting with her legs crossed on an ornate chair, leering down at him. This woman was the other reason he hated coming to Goldenrod.

"Oh, Bugsy, it's you again?"

Bugsy scowled and wrenched his arms from the beauty's grip. He glared at Whitney, pointing his net at her in an accusing gesture. Whitney tried to look unamused, but Bugsy was too used at deciphering her poorly masked emotions by now. That quivering at the side of her lips gave it all away.

"How many times have I told you not to have your trainers abduct me whenever I enter your gym?" said Bugsy angrily.

Whitney waved a hand, slouching further down into her chair.

"I've told my trainers to find and bring anyone they think is cute to me and I'll see if they're gym trainer material. It's not my fault that my trainers find you to be adorable."

"Can you tell them not to capture males, or at least not me, specifically? I don't want to become vilified whenever I step into your gym."

"That's impossible," Whitney said immediately. "I have trainers coming and going every other day. Do you know how much that makes it difficult to get a universal message across?"

Bugsy rolled his eyes. No doubt that Whitney's trainers - and challengers - came and left not at their own expense, what with all of the gym leader's incessant crying, ditziness, and endless egotism. These personality quirks of hers made dealing with her simply unbearable.

"Well, then maybe you should post up a notice saying that you have a limited roster and only accept trainer applicants that stay for longer than three days," Bugsy said.

"Whaaaat? No way!" Whitney sat up straight in her chair and peered at Bugsy, furrowing her eyebrows in bewilderment. "Doing that would just limit the amount of people able to appreciate and spread tales of my beauty!"

Bugsy bit the inside of his mouth to prevent any tongue-in-cheek comments from escaping. He forgot to add stubbornness to her list of bad qualities. Never would she change her methods.

Sighing, Bugsy decided to quickly finish up his business. He pulled out a Poké Ball from his belt - the only Poké Ball he had on him, as last time he had his Pokémon with him, Whitney demanded that they have a battle - and held it out towards Whitney. Whitney leaned forward to gaze at it with curiosity.

Unable to resist, her eyes sparkling, Whitney asked, "Ooh, what is this? A present? For me?"

Bugsy's eyes bulged out at her.

"Don't tell me you forgot. This was the Dunsparce you wanted," said Bugsy.

Whitney straightened back in her seat and tilted her head at him, but not without grabbing the Poké Ball from his hands first.

"Did I ask for a Dunsparce? I don't remember," Whitney cooed, lifting up the Poké Ball above her head to gaze at it closely.

Bugsy slapped his forehead. "If you don't want it, I'll take it back, then."

"When did I ever say I didn't want it?" said Whitney.

Bugsy was about to shake his head in response when a red beam of light suddenly appeared at his feet. Shouting, Bugsy recoiled and stepped back, hearing Whitney squealing with glee as she let the Pokémon out.

In a moment, a Dunsparce was crawling on the gym floor, looking up blankly at its new surroundings. The beauty standing in the room only had to take one look before dropping her purse and run screaming out the door.

Within a moment, Whitney had scooped the Pokémon up and began to cuddle it near her chest. Bugsy couldn't help but turn slightly pink as he saw the Dunsparce wriggle in Whitney's grip.

"It's. So. Cute!" Whitney said, squealing once more.

"I have to admit, you have an interesting take on what's... cute," said Bugsy. "Most girls that want something like a bug to take care of would prefer a Caterpie or Venonat instead..."

Whitney looked up from her squealing and cuddling to glare at him.

"Are you saying my sense of cuteness is weird?" Whitney said in a trembling voice.

Bugsy shook his head frantically. "N-No, that's not what I meant at all - "

Whitney put a hand up, interrupting him. Her eyes full of tears, she said to him:

"I've heard enough! Beauties, take him away!"

A pair of scantily dressed women dashed into the room from out of nowhere. Bugsy, pulling his net back close to him, began waving the tool at the two women in desperation. To his dismay, however, the two women grabbed ahold of him before he could do anything, and without a moment to spare, brought their captive to a hidden door behind Whitney's throne. They paused before entering.

"What can we do with him, leader?" asked one of the beauties.

Whitney wiped her tears with one of her sleeves. The side of her lips quivering slightly again, she answered:

"Do with him what you will. You can dress him, if you'd like. There's a brand new closet featuring the newest dresses from Goldenrod Department Store."

Bugsy let out a fearful cry.

"Whitney! Is this how you repay me, for having done you a favor? You owe me!" he shouted.

Whitney continued to snuggle the Dunsparce, but looked up disgruntled at him and said aloud, "I'll send you a coupon for Moo Moo Milk by mail. There, is that enough?"

"Wha - ! That's not the point," said Bugsy.

"Too bad," said Whitney, as she began to attach a bow onto the Dunsparce's head without regard to its gender.

Still screaming, Bugsy was brought into the room without another glance. Music to her ears. Whitney began to hum.

And Bugsy never visited Goldenrod Gym without carrying some of his Pokémon with him ever again.

* * *

A/N: Oh, poor Bugsy. I didn't mean to torment the guy. But well, that's how things rolled out. No one can stand up to Whitney, really.


	2. Role Play

**Leaders at Leisure**

**2 - Role Play**

* * *

Liza sat at her desk, examining the yearbook she had received in the mail last week. She casually flipped through the pages, pausing momentarily when a certain photo or person caught her eye. After Liza had flipped through the entire yearbook, she turned back a few pages, and her eyes stopped when she saw her own school photo.

There she was, giving the camera a small smile that reflected her reserved demeanor. More reserved than a certain someone, anyways. Next to Liza's school photo was the picture of a boy that looked remarkably like her, grinning with all of his teeth showing. The resemblance between them uncanny, but that was a given. Liza and Tate were twins, after all.

Liza gazed at her twin brother's wide-toothed smile. Honestly, the look on his face was simply foolish. Even she had trouble imagining him to be someone with a sharp mind, but there it was. Somehow, he managed to get nearly the same grades as hers, despite lazing about without worrying about his studies.

Liza felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach as she gazed at her brother's picture. It was as though another person was making her face smile that stupidly. Liza and Tate were fraternal twins, yes - they had to be, being different sexes and all - but Liza thought that if the two of them were the same gender, they would have looked exactly the same, right down from head to toe.

As Liza looked back at her own photo, she paused for a moment, blinking. She looked at her head, and then her twin brother's. A sudden thought occurred to her. Liza set her yearbook down and began to scrounge around her drawers.

* * *

There was a large clunk as a pair of scissors clattered onto the table, landing right next to a large hand mirror. A pile of indigo construction paper lay in pieces at the edge of the table.

Liza held up her finished creation above her head, peering at it underneath the shadow if a ceiling light. Satisfied, a sly grin spread across her lips.

* * *

It was the middle of the night. The moon was floating high up in the sky, and could be seen clearly from the upper floor window of a bedroom. On one side of the bedroom was a bunk bed, of which the top bunk was empty and the bottom bunk housing a soundly sleeping boy. The boy was drooling and had a content, almost foolish expression on his face. Whatever he was dreaming about must have been something nice.

Then, disfiguring the image of innocence, the shadow of a head and body crept across the sprawled figure. Slowly and silently, the shadow grew larger and encompassed the boy's body within a minute.

Only the sounds of the boy's heavy breathing was heard. The room was otherwise completely silent. The shadowy figure, its back lit up by the moonlight, raised its arms, holding two blunt objects in its hands.

The boy suddenly turned his head to the other side, so that his back faced the figure. The shadow did not move, and stood still with its arms outstretched, frozen.

The figure stayed like that for a good minute or so, making sure that there were no other stray movements. The figure extended its arms, holding out two bulbous, blunt objects. The arms lowered themselves down, slowly, inch by inch, until...

_SNORE!_

Shocked, the figure's arms shook as both of the hands opened, letting go of the objects. The figure let out a gasp, watching as one of the objects hit the boy squarely in the face. Needless to say, the disturbance woke up the boy instantly.

"Huh? Whuzzat?"

With the speed and silence of a well-trained assassin, the shadowy figure dashed up the ladder swiftly, sneaking under the covers within a blink of an eye.

Tate sat up and shook his head, blinking drowsily. He gazed around trying to find the source of disturbance, and spotted two strange objects lying on his blankets. Confused, he picked one of the objects and stared at it.

"What the heck is this? Paper? It kind of looks like a flattened eggplant. Or is it a teardrop?" said Tate. He picked up the other one, which was lying beside him. "These look familiar, but I can't quite place my finger on it. Wonder where it came from. Hm."

Tate tossed the two pieces of construction paper down onto the ground and flipped over, going back to sleep.

In the top bunk, Liza lay still on her bed, pulling up her blanket so that it covered her mouth and nose. Keeping silent, she stared resolutely up at the ceiling, trying to make sure she breathed as though she were sleeping. That was a close one.

* * *

The next day, Liza sat at a table, enjoying a lunch with Tate and one of their friends who had come over to visit.

"I'll bring some drinks," said Tate, getting up from the table.

Liza and her friend watched Tate run out of the room. After hearing his footsteps disappear, Liza's friend remarked:

"Hm..."

Liza wrenched her eyes from the doorway and set her gaze on her blonde-haired friend.

"Caitlin?"

Caitlin gestured over to the door.

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking how similar you and Tate looked, even for being twins. If Tate had sideburns as long as yours, I don't think I'd be able to tell the difference between the two of you... Liza? Are you turning pink?"

Liza, her cheeks visibly flushed, shook her head frantically.

Whoever said that fraternal twins couldn't be identical was a liar.


	3. Attack Order

**Leaders at Leisure**

**3 - Attack Order**

* * *

"Right this way, sir."

A blue-haired youth dressed in a waiter's uniform stepped down from his podium to guide his guest to his table: a gentleman quirking his eyebrows at him, no doubt wondering about the very strange make-up of his hairstyle. He thought it was a dye job, no doubt.

The gentleman took off his hat in a what was an unassumedly grateful gesture and picked up his cane from the ground, following the waiter's footsteps.

Once the waiter brought the gentleman to his table and said a few flowery, courteous words, he departed the table. The gentleman set his cane down and waited for a menu to be brought to him. Meanwhile, he examined the environment of the restaurant he just so happened to be dining in.

Striation City's most famous restaurant and café - the two were melded into one - was, unsurprisingly, full and bursting with customers. The ambient lighting consisted of nothing but crystal chandeliers, the tables lavishly decorated with fragrant flowers and impressive plumage, and most importantly, the dishes! It went without saying that Striaton's finest served the best dishes.

In fact, just as the gentleman began to hunger for an appetizer or hors d'oeuvre, a green-haired waiter timidly brought a menu to him and gingerly set it in front of his plate. Though he didn't seem to be the type, this waiter must have had his hair dyed as well, the gentleman thought.

Thanking the waiter, the gentlemen picked up the menu and began to browse through it, his sparkling eyes intially full of life until they slowly began to dim. By the time he had read through the first page, his eyes had lost all of their luster.

The man looked up from his menu to see if the green-haired waiter was waiting beside him, and was about to be disappointed until another waiter popped by his side. One with hair of firetruck red, this time. The gentleman wondered if there was some requirement that one dyed their hair in order to become hired as a waiter.

"Yes?" said the waiter, lowering himself so that he was on eye level with the gentleman. "Do you have a question, sir?"

The gentleman's mustache bristled and twitched; he seemed to be ruffled. "Ah, yes. I was, er, wondering about your menu selection."

"Ah, the menu." The waiter nodded understandingly.

"Yes," said the gentleman. He pointed at the first item on the list. "This 'opening course' has me a bit confused. Why do these dish names sound as though they're - "

"Battles?" the red-haired waiter chimed in.

"Well, er, yes."

The waiter gave the gentleman a small smile. Then, with a flourish, the waiter reached for his pocket and pulled out a Poké Ball. He clicked the Poké Ball's trigger and suddenly, in a red beam of light, a Pansear was sitting on the waiter's shoulder.

"'Battles' is absolutely correct!" exclaimed the waiter.

"I understand now," the gentleman said. "But why would such activities be allowed in a high-class restaurant such as this?"

The red-haired waiter glared at him with one eye, unnerving the man for a moment before the waiter burst into laughs.

"Why else? For entertainment purposes, of course! Not every guest that enters our restaurant has to order a opening course, but for those that do, they provide some pretty lively entertainment for those guests that don't."

"Ah," said the gentleman, nodding. His mustache bristled for a moment. "Then, do the guests battle other guests, or...?"

The waiter answered, "Us, of course!"

"'Us?'"

Grinning widely now, the red-haired waiter said:

"Here in Striaton Gym, my brothers and I do not only serve as restaurateurs, but also as the Pokémon League's newly appointed gym leaders!"

The gentleman's eyes widened. "Gym? Gym leaders?"

"Yes, sir! You must have seen my brothers - they're the green-haired and blue-haired waiters. All three of us serve as Striaton City's gym leaders. This happened very recently, so we've been spicing up the restaurant as a place to enjoy fine dining _and_ hot, fiery battles!"

The red-haired waiter puffed out his chest as he said this, looking mightily proud of himself. He held this stance for a moment before ballooning out and added:

"Ah, right! Sir, I forgot to tell you, that those that wish to partake in a battle get a free entrée as a result. Whether they win or lose doesn't matter!"

"My, that's generous of you," said the gentleman.

The waiter grinned.

"It's a pretty nice incentive, if I do say so myself. So, are you up for it?"

The gentleman put a gloved hand to his chin in thought.

"Hm. Very well," said the gentleman, after a few moments. "I'll take you up on your offer. It's hard to refuse one like that. And they _do_ say that a meal tastes better after a battle."

"Great! Let's get to center stage, then," said the waiter, ushering the man out of his seat.

* * *

The two men moved to a raised platform in the middle of the restaurant. Most assumed that the platform was a spot where a band or orchestra would perform, and they were exactly right. But most did not expect the platform to double as a battling field as well.

"Alright!" said the red-haired waiter, standing on one side of the battlefield. His two brothers and fellow gym leaders stood behind him monitoring the battle. Out in front of him was his Pansear. "I'll use Pansear. Send out your Pokémon, sir!"

The gentleman reached into his pockets, pulling out his Pokéball and setting it in front of his eyes. Before he let out his Pokémon, however, the gentleman asked the waiter, "Any Pokémon is allowed, correct?"

"Correctamundo!"

The gentleman nodded, feeling reassured. He took a deep breath, and shouted:

"Go, Wailord!"

As the red beam from the Poké Ball took over more than half of the room, Chili's eyes bulged out of his sockets, Cilan let out a frightened yelp, and Cress calmly walked over to the fire alarm and pulled it, anticipating the carnage to come.

* * *

Needless to say, ever since that day, Striaton Gym's policy was changed so that those who wanted a battle had to confirm with the gym leaders beforehand about which Pokémon were allowed to be used.


End file.
